And so I ask: “Who’ll soothe me now?”

Above all, like a 

window of light cloud 

onto summit 

proud, and 

loudly here,

and there,

and cared for curious-

like without this thing most people 

call wife,

I strive to be,

even then and when,

a good man, all

these ways and says.

And if striving to be good 

has made my 


a sad till now, let it be 

my goal

to not only be 

good to the other’s   

I see,

and desire – 

and I even have a wired 

right to be 

with, in puzzling love and

live, and sieve

as confusing 

gold of rivered flow – 

but acquire, on top of all of that,

the wondrous 






as well as 

rightly should

as must: and trust me 

I do; trust me

this is so.

For good – I do 

know –

does not need to be

sad; good does not need to be 


as I’ve 


And so neither does 

good need to be 


as I’ve


There will one day

be another way

where my life

can be something different from 

these lays.

I just don’t know what.

I don’t understand where it’s got.

I am shot of all sensibility.

My tree, in fact,

has lost

all branches: no longer do I see

the path. 

The path is – finally – become 

this oath.

And so I ask: “Who’ll 

soothe me


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